


In the Wilderness

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Cabin Fic, Community: romancingmcshep, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10011260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: “Should have known I’d find you in the middle of nowhere.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ community "romancingmcshep" 2017 (full prompt [here](http://romancingmcshep.livejournal.com/42308.html?thread=367172#t367172))

It was dawn, the orange-pink of the rising sun just beginning to show through the trees, when John first heard the crunch of tires on gravel, getting louder.

John stayed where he was, standing on the front porch with his cup of coffee, watching the bright red SUV until he came to a stop in the cabin’s driveway. There was a moment of silence after the engine was shut off, then the driver’s side door opened.

“Should have known I’d find you in the middle of nowhere,” grumbled Rodney. “And in a foot of snow.”

“It’s barely a dusting,” said John.

Rodney closed the car door behind him and gingerly made his way up the snowy walk, but stopped at the foot of the porch steps. “Where the hell are we?”

“Minnesota,” said John. “And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“No, you didn’t,” snapped Rodney, glaring. “And that’s half the problem.”

For the first time in more than a month, the first time since the accident, John didn’t duck his head or turn away. He met Rodney’s stare with his own, daring the scientist to look pitying or disgusted.

But, of course, Rodney never did what anyone expected of him. Those sharp blue eyes took in John’s face, the tatter of his left ear – the scars along his jaw, worse now where days of beard hadn’t grown in properly – the stiffness in John’s left arm and the brace sticking out from under his sleeve – the much more substantial brace on his left knee, over his jeans – and Rodney let out a low sigh.

“You’re okay,” he said, as much to himself as to John. “You’re okay.”

“Not sure that’s the word I would use, McKay,” said John, dryly.

“You’re not dead in a ditch somewhere,” the other man said, glaring again. “Which seemed like a real possibility a moment ago. Why can’t we track your transponder?”

John held up his left elbow, where the tiny chip had once been implanted, letting his sleeve ride up to show more of the brace. “Casualty of war,” he said. “Didn’t see the point of getting another.”

“Didn’t’ see the point—!?” Rodney repeated, the growled, “Clearly, your doctors were all wrong and there _was_ lasting brain damage.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, anyway,” said John.

“Colonel, that is—”

“Not a colonel anymore,” he interrupted. “Didn’t you hear, McKay? _Medically unfit to serve._ ”

“In your stupid military, maybe,” said Rodney. “Sheppard—”

The wind picked up suddenly, icy and cutting. Before, John probably wouldn’t have noticed, but now he had to clench his jaw against painfully-tightening muscles. Part of him – an embarrassingly large part – wanted to stumble down the short flight of steps and let Rodney catch him, to let those broad shoulders hold him up for a while. But the rest of him was far too stubborn for his own good, so he picked up the cane that had been leaning against the wall beside him and stomped inside.

“If you’re staying, you can carry in your own gear,” he said, and left the door open behind him.

*

Rodney set down his suitcase and laptop bag, and closed the cabin door. The place had clearly come furnished – John might have chosen the sturdy wooden furniture and dark fabrics, but the lace doilies and needlework landscapes weren’t quite his style. The living room had a huge stone fireplace against the far wall, across from a large squashy-looking couch. The door at the far end of the building led back outside – Rodney could see trees and snow through the curtained window – while two more doors, half-shut, were to a Spartan bedroom and tiny bathroom. The doorway to the kitchen was open, and Rodney gave the collection of avocado-green appliances a suspicious look as he unpacked the supplies he’d brought onto the rough wooden table.

John was nowhere in sight, but Rodney left him alone for now, busying himself with sorting the pitiful supplies John had brought and adding his own. The refrigerator hummed ominously, but seemed to be staying cold. The coffee maker looked surprisingly modern, after the rest of the house, and the kitchen as a whole appeared reassuringly clean.

Rodney heard footsteps on the wooden floor of the hallway, but didn’t look up. “How did you even find this place?”

“The owner is a friend of General O’Neill’s,” said John. “He knew it was for rent.”

“Hmm,” said Rodney. “A little lower tech than we’re used to.”

“I like the quiet.”

That was so clearly a lie that even Rodney could tell, but he wasn’t quite ready for that conversation. Instead, he said, “Is there any more coffee?”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” John repeated, but he got a clean mug down from the cabinet. “You don’t have to be here.”

“Maybe not,” Rodney agreed, softly. 

“You don’t have to stay,” John pressed.

Rodney snorted. “Even if I didn’t I can’t leave now. These hillbilly back roads would be treacherous enough without all the snowdrifts.”

“It snowed less than an inch.”

“Better safe than sorry, colonel,” said Rodney – when John opened his mouth, probably to protest the use of his rank, he added, “Coffee?”

John scowled, but poured him a cup and passed it over.

“Not bad,” said Rodney, when he had downed about half. “Now, which way is the bedroom? I could use a nap after all that driving.”

“Rodney—” John began, his leg brace creaking as he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the counter, but in the next moment, all the fight seemed to have gone out of him. “You get the couch.”

“You mean there’s no guest room?”

“You’re not a guest,” John snapped, but when Rodney came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, there were clean sheets on the arm of the couch.

*

John honestly didn’t understand why Rodney had come.

He had been medically discharged, cleared to live on his own, drive a car – in a week or two, when he started cutting back on the heavier painkillers, he could even operate heavy machinery. The arm and knee braces were supposed to stay on for a few weeks after that, to ease him through the transition, then he’d have as good a range of motion as he was going to get.

Which would actually be pretty good, considering the shape he’d been in when they brought him through the ‘gate to Earth. John didn’t remember anything but disjointed flashes of pain and motion, but he had read all of the reports afterwards. Carson and Carolyn Lam had operated for hours, meticulously putting him back together, and at least half the credit for his current mostly-whole shape was due to Sam and Vala, who had taken turns using a Goa’uld healing device on him. They had knitted his internal organs back together, re-fused his bones in the proper places and now, not quite a month later, he was almost as good as new.

Almost.

Even alien technology couldn’t fix everything. With good exercise and therapy, he would keep a level of mobility consistent with an average standard – but decidedly below the Air Force’s active field requirements. He wouldn’t fly again, not military aircraft, maybe not even civilian ones, and John had known he would never be able to sit behind a desk sending other people into harm’s way when he couldn’t go himself.

He had been gearing up for a pretty serious freak-out when O’Neill had handed him the keys to his buddy’s hunting cabin and orders to check in with the SGC ever week or so to prove that he was still alive.

Before the end of his first week at the cabin, he’d accepted the medical discharge, authorized the military to store any of his possessions, and sent messages to everyone on Atlantis. He’d congratulated Lorne on his promotion, asked Ronon to look after the city for him, promised Teyla he would keep in touch, thanked the Marines for their service and the scientists for their dedication.

He couldn’t remember, now, what he’d written to Rodney.

John had gotten replies from everyone else by the second week, reassurances and well-wishes and pictures of Torren, but nothing from Rodney. Maybe that’s why he’d been surprisingly unsurprised that Rodney had come looking for him in person.

A low noise brought John abruptly back to the present.

He looked over the spine of his book, through the open bedroom door to where Rodney was sleeping – and now snoring – on the living room couch. 

John couldn’t let him stay. It would just end badly, for both of them. It just wasn’t even anymore – Rodney could do so much more for John, now, than he could ever do in return, and John just had to learn to live with that.

His stomach rumbled, and John closed his book, easing his knee brace carefully off the bed and trying to be as quiet as he could. There was canned soup in the kitchen that he was pretty sure he could make without too much trouble, and if he purposely picked Rodney’s favorite flavor, nobody really had to know.

*

Rodney woke to the sound of metal banging and bolted upright, reaching for a gun he didn’t have. But it was only John, wrestling a cast iron pan onto the equally-cast iron stove.

“Should you really be doing that?” he asked.

“If you want to eat, I should,” said John. “And I don’t think I’ll manage to overexert myself heating up canned soup.”

“What time is it?”

“Three,” said John. “In the afternoon. You missed lunch, so I figured we could have an early dinner, then something else later. Bowls are in the top left cabinet.”

Rodney got them down, then went looking for glasses and spoons. He kept one eye on John, who was standing at the stove with his back turned, stirring the soup. He rolled up the sleeves of his plaid over-shirt, and Rodney could see the thick brace on his left wrist. The sliver of skin between it and the rolled cuff was still heavily scarred. It had taken so much effort to keep him alive during surgery that Sam and Vala had been too exhausted to manage anything cosmetic. Once John – and they – had recovered a little, Vala had offered to keep trying, but the healing device worked mostly to bolster a person’s own healing mechanisms and wasn’t as good at fixing scar tissue. 

The scars were fading now, tinged silver at the edges, and Rodney had a sudden urge to touch them, to offer comfort and reassurance.

Of course, John would never allow that – so Rodney decided to complain instead.

“That couch is at least as old as I am,” he said, resisting the urge to touch by holding both bowls for John to fill. “And there are drafts _everywhere_ in this godforsaken place. How is a man supposed to get any sleep?”

“Seemed like you were doing just fine, McKay,” said John. His knee brace creaked as he sat and stretched his leg out under the table, but they both ignored it. “And you snore.”

“I do not,” Rodney protested. “And I was only asleep due to sheer exhaustion. I, uh… I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“Well, now that you’ve seen for yourself that I’m still alive, you can go back to Atlantis and your prescription mattress.”

“Oh, please,” said Rodney, around a mouthful of broth and vegetables. “You think I hiked all the way into this backwoods wilderness to do something I could have done by telephone?”

“I seem to recall you _drove_ here,” said John. “And I didn’t bring my phone.”

“You have a landline,” said Rodney, pointing to the seventies-era plastic set on the kitchen wall. “And a sat-phone for emergencies. I could get those numbers in under five minutes.”

“I’m sure you could. So why _are_ you here, instead of doing that?”

Rodney set his spoon down with a clatter. “Because you left!” he said. “You were… you were doing so much better. You could walk again, eat solid foods, breathe without making that beached whale noise.”

“Hey,” said John, more out of habit than because he was genuinely offended.

“Your drill instructor said everything was going well—”

“Captain Lindgren’s title is actually ‘physical therapist’.”

“—and you _swore_ you’d be fine if Teyla and Ronon and I went back to Atlantis.”

“I was fine,” John protested. “I _am_ fine.”

“You’re a hermit!” Rodney protested. “What are you even doing out here?”

“Keeping up with my PT, for one,” said John, stubbornly. “Not getting anyone else killed.”

Rodney’s stomach lurched. “John—”

“I need some air,” he said, suddenly. He winced as he pushed himself up from the table, but they both ignored that, too. “There’s more soup, if you want seconds.”

The front door slammed, and Rodney stayed where he was for a long moment, staring at John’s empty chair. Then, he got up and tipped both of their unfinished bowls back into the pot, turning the heat down to low – he’d shared worse than germs with John over the years, and they’d probably both be hungry later.

*

John had barely remembered to grab his coat before he’d stormed outside. There was enough of a chill, even in the late afternoon, that he wrestled it on immediately, tugging his wrist brace through the sleeve and shifting his cane from hand to hand.

The dusting of snow from earlier had crusted over with ice and crunched under John’s feet as he clattered down the porch steps. It was only dusk, but the pink-purple sky was already full of stars. Inside, John could hear Rodney moving around the kitchen, cleaning up. The part of him that had been raised to have manners felt guilty that he was letting a guest do housework – but most of him remembered that he hadn’t invited Rodney here in the first place.

He had wanted to be alone in his misery, was that too much to ask? To not have an audience while he found out exactly what he couldn’t do anymore, when he woke from nightmares with any one of a very long list of names caught in his throat.

And he’d chickened out on the letter he’d left Rodney, mentioned honor and gratitude and the fact that he was one-up in their years-long chess championship without a word about how sometimes, at the most random times, being the military commander of an entire galaxy had been _too much_ and he wouldn’t have been able to handle it without Rodney’s sharp voice in his ear, Rodney’s solid presence at his side.

For a split-second, John had considered going back to Atlantis as a civilian. His gene still worked just fine, and Rodney at the very least would be thrilled to have him in the lab without that ‘military stuff’ getting in the way. Puddlejumpers and the control chair were mostly a mental process, so even with his bum leg he’d be better operating them in an emergency than a nervous Carson Beckett.

But it would be entirely unfair to _Lieutenant Colonel_ Lorne to have his former CO hanging around. John knew himself well enough to know that he’d never be able to sit on the sidelines if there was a crisis. He’d do something heroically stupid (to use Rodney’s phrase) and that would be a liability. His heroics had been risky enough when he was fully able-bodied, but now he was more likely to get someone killed.

And he really didn’t need any more deaths on his conscience.

John wasn’t sure how long he’d stood out there in the snow, watching the sky grow dark, when the front door opened behind him. 

“I’m putting the soup back on,” said Rodney. “Come back inside before you rust up like the Tin Man.”

John flexed stiff fingers on the handle of his cane, then said, “Never took you for a fantasy lit fan, McKay.”

Rodney sputtered as he held the door open, and his subsequent rant about the evils of English Literature warmed John just as much as the soup.

*

Rodney woke suddenly, and it took him a moment to remember that he was in an old hunting cabin in the middle of the woods of Minnesota, sleeping on a couch, because of John Sheppard.

The bedroom door had been left open, so he could see that John was still in bed, curled up under a heavy quilt. For a moment, Rodney lay still, then he heard the noise that must have woken him – a tiny sniffling-wheezing noise that anyone else might have mistaken for the wind or an animal outside. But Rodney had spent years sharing tents with John or sitting by his bed in the infirmary, and he knew exactly what one of John’s nightmares sounded like.

He’d snooped in John’s medical cabinet as soon as he’d had the chance, so he knew John was still on some heavy-duty painkillers, with sleeping aids at night. The levels in each bottle indicated that he was taking them, and to Rodney that was clearly a bad sign. John was usually back on his feet as soon as he could be – before, if he thought he could get away with it.

But there was no one that needed to be rescued here, no city to protect. No reason for John to push himself. Carson and the SGC’s new doctor – what’s her name, Landry’s daughter – had promised that John would recover. That eventually, he’d be able to walk and lift and bend just like any ordinary human.

Except that John had never been ordinary.

John was meant to fly – and even fully recovered, his reflexes would never been could enough to let him behind the controls of even a civilian craft.

The noise came again, a little louder and sounding more pained, and Rodney got up. The hardwood floor was cold, even through his thick socks, so he hurried into the bedroom. John was curled up under the quilt, turned away from the door. He was lying on his uninjured side, and Rodney could see the criss-cross of scars along his jaw, down the bare arm sticking out from under the blankets. The scars shone pale in the moonlight, shifting as John flinched away from something that wasn’t there, and Rodney rushed to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Sheppard?” Usually, just coming into the room would cause the colonel – ex-colonel – to wake, but he stayed asleep, shifting restlessly. “Sheppard?”

There was no response. 

Rodney could see that John wasn’t wearing either of his braces, and if he kept moving around, he was probably going to hurt himself. There was no chair in the room and Rodney didn’t want to waste time trying to find one in the dark, so he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, near John’s hip.

“Hey,” he said, softly. “It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe, you’re okay, you’re—”

He had reached out to take John’s hand, and been struck by a sense-memory so strong he would have sworn he could actually smell blood. Rodney’s heart raced, matching the pulse he could feel at John’s wrist.

When John had been hurt, between every survey, while Sam and Vala used the healing devices, Rodney had been in this exact position, clutching John’s hand as the colonel – still a colonel, then – fought against the pain. The Goa’uld devices worked by boosting the patient’s immune system, but they also boosted the metabolism, so any sedatives or painkillers he was given hardly had a chance to kick in before they wore off.

Rodney had let John squeeze his hand until his fingers went numb, murmuring a never-ending stream of nonsense – insults on careless Ancients and reckless colonels, ideas for turning the ‘jumpers’ cloaks into chameleon circuits, pleading assurances that John would be fine and shakily-delivered threats of what Rodney would do to him if he wasn’t.

When John had woken up, an entire day later, lucid and demanding to be discharged from the infirmary, Rodney had thought the worst was over – until the nightmares started.

The Pegasus Galaxy had not been kind to anyone’s psyche, but after the first year, the nightmares generally settled to a dull roar, only keeping someone up occasionally and usually only after an additional stressor. But John slept sporadically as his body adjusted to the rapid healing, and one seemed to catch him every time he fell asleep. They were never loud, screaming nightmares, but somehow that was worse – watching John flinch and whimper in his sleep. Like he was doing right now.

“John,” Rodney said, softly. “John, you’re safe.”

He brought his free hand up, brushing carefully through John’s unruly hair – two weeks alone in the wilderness, how was it still doing that? – but the other man diddn’t wake. John let out a shaky breath, less pained now, and Rodney kept going, until John had fully relaxed under his fingers, until John’s breathing had evened out into genuine, deep sleep.

When the first glimmers of morning sunshine filtered through the bedroom curtains, Rodney carefully disentangled himself and went back to the couch, asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

*

John woke slowly, feeling more rested than he had since before the accident. Lately, his dreams had been leaving him restless – not so deep that he could get a good night’s rest, but deep enough that he always knew he was dreaming. But last night, he’d slept soundly and didn’t remember a bit of it. For a long moment, he just laid in bed, listing to the birdsongs outside rise and fall under the sound of snoring from the next room.

Rodney.

He couldn’t believe he’d slept better just because Rodney had been sleeping out in the living room. But nothing else had changed, not the cabin or the woods or John himself, nothing except the addition of the scientist now sleeping on the couch.

John got out of bed carefully, but he was less sore than he expected. He avoided his reflection in the misty antique mirror, tugging his arm and knee braces on quickly. Just like every morning, he was grateful he’d lugged along a _real_ coffee pot, and he took his round of morning medications while he waited for it to brew.

Less than three minutes later, he stood in the kitchen doorway, cradling his steaming mug in both hands.

Rodney’s stuff took up about a third of the living room, strewn around in no particular order – his suitcase leaned half-opened against the side of the stone fireplace, his laptop and an array of other miscellaneous devices threatening to overwhelm the tiny side-table and John drew in a slow, shaky breath just looking at it.

Rodney didn’t belong here, in the middle of nowhere. He’d probably argue that John didn’t, either, but he’d earned his exile, with the lives of six Marines. He didn’t deserve to drag Rodney along with him.

There was still a significant part of John that wanted to keep Rodney here anyway, wanted to collapse onto the couch next to him and tell him _everything_. To let Rodney badger him through PT, to call him ‘colonel’ even though he wasn’t anymore, to _care_ what happened to him, even when John himself didn’t.

He was probably going to miss that the most.

Rodney gave a particularly loud snore and shifted in his sleep. His blanket slid off, half-way onto the floor, and John picked it up, tucking it carefully back around the sleeping scientist.

He didn’t want Rodney to go, but it was just better for everyone if he was left alone.

*

Rodney knew exactly what John was doing. Annoying people on purpose so that they would get fed up and leave before they could hurt you – or, in this case, before you could hurt them – was a coping mechanism he knew well. And John was actually very good at it. With someone else, it probably would have worked, but Rodney was not about to be played at his own game.

When John snapped at him, Rodney snapped right back, as frustrating and obnoxious as he knew how to be, mentally awarding himself points every time he got John’s expression to change from the blankly miserable stare he seemed to have most of the time – even if all he could get was ‘angry’.

And neither of them left. _That_ was new, to Rodney, at least. They both had the means, not just the cabin’s emergency landline, but the internet connection Rodney had set up on his third day there, but no matter how irritated and annoyed they got, they couldn’t seem to stay more than a few feet from each other.

Because if he was being honest, that was exactly why Rodney was there. He didn’t know if it was the terror-and-wonder of their first year in Atlantis that had brought them together, or the following years of walking into the unknown side-by-side, or all of it together, but Rodney didn’t know how to do it without John.

He didn’t know how to do much without John, anymore. And he wasn’t about to find out.

*

Everything came to a rolling boil at lunch.

The dose of John’s painkillers had been reduced the day before, now half as much as he had been taking, and it was hitting him hard. He’d woken to a dull, insistent throb all along his left side and his mood had been miserable since.

Rodney, of course, was his usual irritable self, and when he’d started to complain about washing the dishes, not two minutes after he’d volunteered to wash the dishes, all John wanted was for it all to _STOP_.

Rodney froze, and John realized he’d said that last word out loud.

“Just… stop,” he repeated, more quietly.

“As much as I’m tempted to take you up on that,” said Rodney. “These dishes need to get done, and you should probably be keeping that brace dry.”

“Not the damn dishes, McKay,” John growled. “Why are you still here?”

Rodney glared at him. “Because _you’re_ still here.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna _stay_ here,” said John. “This isn’t a vacation, Rodney, this is it, forever. Medical discharge means no more Atlantis, no more Air Force, no more _flying_. So what do I need an astrophysicist for?”

“I thought maybe you needed a friend,” Rodney shot back. “I know I’m not a very good one, but I couldn’t let you stay out here all alone.”

“I was doing just fine on my own,” John insisted.

Rodney shut off the water and turned to face him properly. “Were you?” he asked. “Had you had a single decent night’s sleep before I got here?”

He hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to admit that now. “What did you do, McKay?”

“What I had to,” said Rodney. “What I’m _still_ doing – trying to bring you home.”

“Weren’t you listening?” snapped John. “Atlantis isn’t my home anymore. So, just… just give up, and go back!”

Rodney glared. “We don’t leave people behind, colonel.”

“I’m not a colonel anymore!” said John. “I’m not _anything_! I’m—”

He broke off with a growl of frustration, both fists clenched at his sides. The pain in his left arm was worse, but at the moment, it also felt good, stoking his anger not just at Rodney, but at _everything_.

“Well, you’re still a stubborn bastard,” said Rodney. “But then, so I am. I know what you’ve been trying to do, get me so mad at you that I’ll leave you here. Well, let me tell you something, John Sheppard, it’s not going to work. You want to stay out here in the middle of nowhere, playing the Hunchback of Notre Dame? That’s fine with me. We’ll just stay out here until you come to your senses, or until we finally kill each other.

John felt suddenly light-headed.

Rodney _was_ a stubborn bastard, just like he was. He tried to hold onto his anger, but it had lodged painfully somewhere in his sternum, out of reach. 

“I… I need some air,” he rasped and left, barely remembering to grab his cane and a coat as he went.

*

About ten minutes after John left, it started to snow. 

Rodney watched it as he washed the lunch dishes, tiny flakes that melted almost before they hit the ground. But by the time he’d dried everything and put it away, the snow had gotten heavier, sticking to tree branches and coating the grass.

It kept snowing, slow but steady, all afternoon. Rodney swept the porch steps, then watched them cover over again. He kept glancing out of the cabin windows, looking for a glimpse of unruly dark hair or red plaid jacket, but there was nothing.

John had been gone for hours. At least a foot of snow had fallen, and out in the woods with an injured leg… As the sun began setting in a riot of gold-tinged snowflakes, Rodney really started to worry. It was time for John’s evening medications and he was still nowhere to be found.

Rodney had been trying to give him some space, to let John come to the conclusion that he was being an idiot all on his own. But he’d rather have another argument about ‘personal boundaries’ than continue worrying about John being lost in the wilderness.

He had left his hat and gloves by the fire after sweeping the porch earlier and he tugged them back on, then grabbed his coat from the peg by the door – and froze.

John’s ridiculous red plaid lumberjack coat was still hanging there, scarf and gloves tucked into the pockets. John had been outside for hours now, in the snow and without his coat, and Rodney’s heart sank. He’d meant to come here to take care of John and all he’d managed to do was make things worse.

Rodney folded John’s coat into the front of his own, grabbed a flashlight from the shelf next to the back door, and headed outside.

*

John didn’t pay much attention to where he was going when he left the cabin, more interested in just getting _away_.

He had walked about a dozen yards before the ache in his knee registered, but he welcomed the pain. The snow that started to fall a few minutes later was just icing on his misery. When he started to shiver in just his flannel over-shirt, John stopped to put on his jacket. It was easier than usual to wrangle the sleeve over his brace, but he didn’t realize why until he’d gotten it all the way on, the zipper fastened up to his chin and had taken a deep breath that smelled of hypoallergenic detergent.

He hadn’t grabbed his own coat as he’d left – he’d taken Rodney’s orange fleece jacket.

John started walking again, a little slower this time, leaning heavily on his cane over the uneven ground. He wasn’t so much mad at Rodney for tracking him down to the middle of nowhere as he was with himself for letting Rodney stay. He’d meant to make a clean break, hide out in the woods until he figured himself out, and send a message back to Atlantis once he knew what he was doing.

But, of course, he hadn’t counted on the force of nature that was Rodney McKay.

He should have sent Rodney right back where he came from when he first arrived. But he’d been lonely and in pain and just hearing Rodney’s voice had made him feel better. Rodney was the one person he’d never had to pretend for. He’d needed to be fearless for both subordinates and superiors. He’d needed to be tough for the military and understanding for the civilians – and sometimes the other way around. Even with Elizabeth, he’d felt the need to protect her, to act strong even when he didn’t feel it.

But with Rodney, he only ever needed to be himself. Even when he wasn’t – alien possession or insect transformation or whatever else could happen to a person in the Pegasus Galaxy – if there was even a _spark_ of John Sheppard left, Rodney would find it.

This time, John should have known better than to give him the opportunity.

The snow was falling more heavily now, coating the trees and drifting across the hunting trail he’d been following. John stuck his free hand into the pocket of Rodney’s coat, clutching the handle of his cane tightly with the other.

It was getting dark and even though John wasn’t quite ready to face Rodney again, he knew he should be getting back. He could feel the tightening in his muscles that meant he was due to take his next dose of medication soon.

John let out a long steadying breath and turned back to the cabin – only for his cane to skid on a patch of ice and knock into his bad knee. His leg crumpled beneath him and John went down hard, hitting his shoulder painfully against a tree stump as he tumbled off the trail and rolled to a landing at the bottom of a shallow embankment.

He lay still, all the wind knocked out of him, and didn’t even try to get up again as the snow continued to drift around him.

*

As he stomped through the ankle-deep snow, Rodney regretted that he hadn’t brought along a Life Signs Detector, no matter what Landry had said about alien artifacts being taken outside the Mountain. It was still falling steadily, erasing any footsteps John might have left. If Rodney was even going in the right direction – he was only theorizing that John had gone in a more-or-less straight line once he’d left the cabin. But John couldn’t have gotten too far on that leg, and he might even have had enough sense to turn back when the storm had worsened.

Rodney irritably batted another snow-covered branch out of his way, and kept walking. There was supposed to be a trail here, somewhere, but he only seemed to find it every other step as he struggled through the woods.

It figured that his first real vacation in a very long time would involve all of the things he hated about off-world missions – terrible conditions, questionable food and endless hikes through equally-endless trees. But John was more than worth the effort, even if John didn’t believe that. He’d never given up on Rodney – not through panic attacks or near-Ascension or the second childhood virus – and Rodney had no idea why John thought he’d ever leave him behind for something as simple as this.

The snow started to let up a bit, but it was also getting dark very fast. Rodney shone his flashlight around in wide circles, afraid of missing a clue.

“Sheppard?” he called, but there was no answer. “Sheppard!?”

Rodney stopped, looking around. At first, there was nothing, just trees and snow – then, he spotted something brilliantly orange against all of the white.

“Sheppard!”

*

The silence of the snowfall was almost deafening, but John could have sworn he heard someone call his name.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d fallen, but it had gotten completely dark in the meantime. He had stopped shivering a while ago, too, and even though he knew that was a bad sign, he couldn’t seem to make himself move.

It figured that he would survive alien space vampires in another galaxy, just to die of hypothermia, right in his own backyard.

“Sheppard!?”

Snow tumbled down from the trail above him, disturbed by someone half-sliding down the slope.

“You had better still be alive, you stubborn idiot,” the person grumbled. “Because if you’ve frozen to death out here, I’m going to kill you.”

Gloved hands took either side of John’s face and he blinked into concerned blue eyes. “R’dn’y?”

“Who _else_ would come rescue your stupid ass during a _blizzard_?” The hands moved, ghosting over the rest of him. “Are you injured?”

John shook his head. “Not ‘ny w-worse than b-before.”

“Good, good,” Rodney said. “And of course, you’re soaked through. Sit up.”

He grabbed John’s good wrist and hauled him upright, then started on the zipper of his fleece.

“H-hey!” John protested. “ ‘S c-cold!”

“Thank you for the update, Captain Obvious.”

“ _C-colonel_ O-obvious,” said John.

Rodney wrestled this fleece off, then opened the front of his own coat and pulled out a bundle of red plaid – John’s flannel jacket. John’s cold-numbed fingers were no help getting it on, but Rodney’s hands were sure and steady, tugging his arms through the sleeves, then bundling the fleece back over it. John’s jacket was still warm from Rodney’s body heat and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

Until he was tapped, hard, on the back of the head.

“H-hey,” he said again.

“No falling asleep,” Rodney said, sharply. He grabbed John’s wrist again, but this time kept pulling, until both of them were on their feet. “C’mon, keep moving.”

John swayed but managed to stay upright as Rodney tugged the arm over his shoulder and started walking. He tried to keep his eyes open, but it felt like he was fading in and out, hardly paying attention to where they were going until his boots hit wood instead of dirt.

“Stairs,” said Rodney. “Stay with me.”

“’M a-always with y-you,” John muttered.

Rodney fumbled with the cabin door, then shoved John inside. He hauled him through to the tiny bathroom and pushed him onto the closed toilet lid. “Stay. And strip.”

“M-movin’ a little f-fast there, b-buddy.”

“Shut up,” said Rodney. “Can you manage to get undressed by yourself?”

John nodded weakly and started on the zipper of the orange fleece. He could hear Rodney moving around the bathroom, starting the water in the bathtub, rummaging through the tiny cabinet for clean towels. He got the jacket open, then struggled with the sleeves, catching his wrist brace inside and nearly falling off the toilet.

“Careful!” Rodney snapped. “I didn’t haul you back here just for you to crack your head open.”

He batted John’s fingers away and peeled off the fleece, then the flannel jacket and John’s over-shirt. He was careful removing the braces from John’s wrist and knee, setting them carefully on the edge of the sink, before getting back to John’s clothes.

Rodney had already lost his own coat, and added his t-shirt to the pile of sodden clothing on the floor. He yanked off his boots and tossed them into the hall, then started on John’s. He’d already reached for the button of John’s jeans when the pilot’s brain really caught up with what was going on.

“H-hey,” John protested.

“Save it, Sheppard,” said Rodney. “You’re hypothermic and you need to get warm. Your clothes are soaked and frozen – you’re getting naked and getting into the tub and I don’t want to hear any protests.”

John did want to protest, but Rodney’s hands had found his bare skin and the sudden warmth made him gasp. Rodney was always so warm – he must have noticed it before, to know it with such certainty, but he’d never really thought about it before. 

“This is probably going to hurt,” said Rodney, when John had finally stubbornly wriggled out of his boxers, and unceremoniously tipped him into the bathtub.

It did hurt, but only for a moment, all of his extremities flaring with pain at the sudden change of temperature before it all settled down to a bone-deep warmth. John let his head _thunk_ back against the porcelain edge of the tub and closed his eyes.

“No sleeping!” said Rodney.

“Not sleeping,” John protested, but he really wanted to. The shivering had eased, he could feel his fingers again, his nose and the tips of his ears had stopped aching. “Just…floating.”

“What? You told me you weren’t injured, when you have _clearly_ hit your head or something…” Rodney’s fingers slid through his hair, firm but gentle as he apparently checked for lumps. “Are you seeing double? Headache?”

“I don’t have a head injury, McKay,” said John, his voice unsteady again – not from the cold, but from the sudden very close proximity of a shirtless Rodney. “I’m _fine_.”

“You have no idea what that word means,” Rodney snapped.

“It _means_ there’s nothing you can do about this,” said John, suddenly angry. He didn’t understand why was Rodney still here, why he was dragging this out, letting John get a taste of what he was never going to have, once Rodney went back to Atlantis where he belonged? “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone?” Rodney repeated, kneeling back on the bath rug. “To be miserable here all by yourself? To get lost in the woods and die of hypothermia?”

“Maybe that would be for the best,” John muttered.

Rodney’s face went white. “You take that back,” he demanded, shoving at John’s shoulder. “You take that back right now.”

John shoved back, feet slipping a little until he could stand, dripping wet and naked in the tub. He watched Rodney look him over, starting at his ragged left ear, down the livid scars on his arm, to the thicker scars along his side, like angry vines burrowed under his skin, ending at his left knee.

“I’m _broken_ , McKay,” he said. “I can’t fight, I can’t fly. What am I good for anymore? Atlantis needs you, and it sure as hell doesn’t need me.”

“Atlantis will always need you,” Rodney protested.

“As what, a mascot?” scoffed John. “Go back, and leave me in peace.”

“No,” said Rodney. “What are you even – _no_. What part of this do you not understand? I am not leaving here without you. So if you plan on staying in this godforsaken wilderness for the rest of your life, then you’re going to have a roommate.”

“You can’t stay here, Rodney,” said John, stubbornly.

Rodney got to his feet, too, fists clenched at his side. “The hell I can’t,” he said. “I can be damned stubborn when I want to be, and I’m _much_ more irritating than you.”

“Earth isn’t where you belong,” John pressed. “You need Atlantis, and science, and breaking the laws of physics. There’s nothing here for you.”

“You’re here,” said Rodney. “Why would I need anything else?”

“Dammit, McKay,” growled John. “You wouldn’t even consider leaving Atlantis when Keller wanted to _marry_ you, why the hell would you do it now?”

“Maybe I didn’t love Jennifer as much as I love you!” Rodney shouted, and they both froze.

There was a long moment of silence in the tiny bathroom, then John said, barely a whisper, “Rodney?”

“I love you,” Rodney repeated, voice steady.

John drew in a shaky breath. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” said Rodney. “You’re my best friend. You’re… you. How could I not?”

“I…” John felt lightheaded again, but didn’t realize he’d started swaying until Rodney was beside him again, hands on his elbows.

“Sit down before you hurt yourself,” Rodney said, in that fondly-exasperated tone he’d heard a hundred times before, but had never really thought about.

“I…” John said again, letting Rodney help him sink back into the water. “I’m still broken.”

“Maybe,” Rodney allowed. “But you’re alive. I’ll take that over any alternative, believe me.”

“Yeah,” said John softly. “Yeah. But I can’t go back to Atlantis. Not… not like this.”

“Maybe not now. But I left Radek looking through the Ancient database, just in case there was any kind of healing device or…”

John managed a smile. “Thanks.”

At the same time, they both seemed to realize where they were and what they were – or were _not_ – wearing. 

“Oh,” said Rodney, flushing pink. “You’re – and I’m – the water’s probably getting cool, and I should—”

He started to stand, but John caught his wrist. “Hey,” he said, softly. “I, um… me, too. You know, that I…”

John trailed off, flushing himself, but he’d always been better at actions than words. He slid his free hand behind Rodney’s neck to tug him into a kiss. He meant it to be brief, but Rodney melted against him, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and neither of them pulled away until they needed air.

Rodney’s hand had made its way to the left side of John’s face, his thumb running gently over the scars, and Rodney was still staring at him with an amazed sort of smile, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be there.

“Yeah,” said Rodney, only pulling away far enough to breathe. “Definitely yeah.”

“Definitely what?” asked John – he didn’t remember asking a question.

Rodney grinned. “You. If it’s Atlantis or you, John… Definitely you.”

“I wasn’t asking that,” said John.

“No you weren’t,” Rodney agreed and kissed him again, hard. “But that’s still my answer.”

“Okay,” said John. “C-cool.”

He blinked, shivering, and Rodney swore. “Stupid, reckless…” he said, reaching over for the hot water knob, and John laughed, pulling him in for another kiss.

*

Rodney woke, slowly, to the now-familiar sounds of nature outside the cabin. He was warm, pressed gently to the mattress by a warm weight all along his left side – he blinked, taking in the unruly dark hair, and grinned.

John was still too injured and/or on painkillers to really do anything about their conversation in the bathroom, but the end of his standoffish behavior meant he was more willing to accept the comfort Rodney offered. Which meant that they both slept together in the single bed, John’s injured side braced against Rodney’s. He hadn’t had any more nightmares since - in fact, they’d both been sleeping soundly the last few days.

Something beeped, softly, from the living room, and Rodney realized that was what had woken him. He slid carefully out of bed, pressing a kiss to John’s temple when the other man tried to pull him back in. The beeping was from his laptop, an incoming message, and Rodney opened the video program, dialing down the sound.

“ _Ah, Rodney_ ,” said Radek. “ _The outdoor life is agreeing with you._ ”

“It’s doing no such thing,” Rodney grumbled.

“ _Then you may be in luck_ ,” Radek told him.

Rodney sat up straight. “You found something?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” the other man said. “ _I emphasize this, very strongly. But we believe we have found something that may have been the technology on which the Goa’uld based their sarcophagus_.”

“The sarcophagus?” Rodney repeated. “And it’s not that… zombie cube thing?”

“ _Telchak’s device?_ ” said Radek. “ _No, this is the technology on which that was based, also. But that is why we are cautious. Maybe, this is not as powerful as a sarcophagus – but maybe, it will not work to heal the colonel._ ”

“Not a colonel,” said John, coming to stand at Rodney’s shoulder. He was wearing boxers and Rodney’s _I’m with genius_ t-shirt, and the scientist felt a little possessive thrill at the sight. “And there’s a chance it _will_ work?”

“ _A chance, yes,_ ” said Radek. “ _The Ancients, as you know, did not leave much data to accompany their technology, but given the strength of your gene, with Rodney here as well… Yes, a chance._ ”

“And the risks?” Rodney asked.

“ _We are almost positive he will not turn into a zombie_ ,” said Radek. “ _Otherwise, probably nothing. It will work, or it will not, but it should not do any harm._ ”

“Well, that’s great,” said Rodney. “Have this thing shipped to the SGC and I’ll take a look—”

“ _We cannot_ ,” Radek interrupted. “ _The device appears harmless, but also delicate. It will have to be used here, in Atlantis._ ”

Rodney nodded. “John?”

“I…” he said, then squeezed Rodney’s shoulder and straightened. “Okay. We’ll come to Atlantis.”

Radek smiled. “ _Wonderful. I will see you then._ ”

*

John woke slowly, and nothing hurt.

He blinked up at the blank infirmary ceiling. Normally, he hated the sight of it but today, it was the best thing he’d ever seen – until Rodney leaned over the bed, blue eyes wide.

“Sheppard?”

“Hey, Rodney,” he said.

“Don’t you ‘hey, Rodney’ me. Are you healed?”

John smiled – Rodney’s blunt questions were better than any bedside manner. “Let’s find out.”

He held out a hand and let Rodney help him up. Cautiously, John bent his left knee, then rested his entire weight on it. The joint held, moving painlessly, and he grinned. “Sweet.”

“And your arm?” Rodney pressed.

John flexed it, rotating his wrist, then his whole arm. He made a fist, feeling the tension in his muscles but still no pain, then thumped it playfully into Rodney’s shoulder.

“Hey!” the scientist protested. “Just because you’re all put back together doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.” He paused, then blinked. “Wait, you’re all put back together?”

“Looks like,” John grinned. “What do you say, Carson?”

“Aye, the scans confirm it,” the doctor said. “I’ll warn you, there’s a good deal of scar tissue left on the epidermis, but the muscles, tendons, joints… all back to before the accident. Better, in some cases. You’ll pass any fitness test the Air Force throws at you with flying colors.”

“So, I can get my commission back?” asked John.

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” said a voice – Sam stood in the infirmary doorway. Her ship, the _George Hammond_ , had been scheduled to visit Atlantis when John and Rodney arrived at the SGC, but her current expression made John think she’d had an ulterior motive. “It seems there was a complication.”

John froze. “Complication?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, everyone knows how terrible General O’Neill is with paperwork. It seems that he… misplaced your discharge papers. Somehow, swapped them with a leave of absence form.”

“Did he?” John asked, fighting a smile.

“Man hates paperwork,” said Sam. “So, really, it’s better for everyone if you’d just take your old job back.”

“Here?” said John. “Atlantis? I – but what about Lorne?”

“Maybe a little paperwork,” Sam allowed. “Bump you up to full-bird colonel, and _Lieutenant_ Colonel Lorne said he’ll be happy to have you back?”

“Full-bird?” John repeated. “I… that’s…”

“He means ‘yes’,” Rodney interrupted. “Right?”

“Yes,” said John, unable to hide his grin. “I mean ‘yes’.”

“Excellent,” said Sam. “Good thing I had the SGC load all your stuff from storage onto the _Hammond_. I’ll have the Marines take it to your old quarters.”

“No,” said John. When she frowned at him, head tilted quizzically, he took a deep breath and said, “I’ll need to requisition new quarters. For me and McKay.”

“John?” said Rodney, half pleased and half warning.

But Sam was grinning. “Ha!” she said. “Daniel owes me fifty bucks. He swore you two would take longer after coming back to Atlantis to get your act together.”

“You were _betting_ on us?” Rodney spluttered.

John laughed and caught his hand. “I think we can let it go this time.”

“We can—” Rodney began, then he laughed, too. “Okay.”

Sam smiled at them for a moment. “Well,” she said. “I should get those Marines moving. Carson, I’m sure you have other patients to check on…”

“What? Oh, yes… Colonel, you let me know if you feel anything less than completely well. Otherwise, I’ll have your discharge ready in my office.”

“Thanks,” said John. When they had left, he tugged Rodney’s hand, pulling him closer. “This is okay, right? Us moving in together?”

Rodney snorted. “What part of _I will spend my life with you in the wilderness_ did you not understand?”

“No, I got it,” said John, and kissed him.

THE END


End file.
